The Last Waltz
by Kuro The Dark Ringmaster
Summary: Arthur becomes ill with a disease that is slowly tearing him apart, to preserve his pride he pushes the other nations away and retreats to his study in which he reads, writes and generally regrets what he didn't do with his time. There is one person he desires to see and that is to apologize to a certain young man he had hurt. UsUk, Lemon, Character Death


_I plan on continuing, "Something More," as well as the sequil to "Petrified Sofa Stuffing," however I wanted to post this and see what everyone thought. If it's reviewed I will continue. If not I will most likely drop it since I have been busy with my two Kuro fanfics and "Something More."  
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**Prologue:**

Emerald green eyes looked out over the now orange and pink sky, staring at the horizon which at one time had held so much hope. The wonder of what was beyond the line in which the sky met the sea. The thrill of clamoring aboard a ship and feeling the waves toss the vessel as the wind filled her sails. The smell of salt and fresh air rode the breeze as it came off the ocean. The white sand had long turned cold, as was the water. It was only June after all, it wouldn't warm for another month. Blond hair danced in the wind as it swept by, it was short and rather messy. It revealed a pair of thick eyebrows as it moved. He was pale as snow and sighed, he hadn't tanned and would never tan like the man he loved.

So much had happened, things had changed so quickly and yet everything was standing still. Time seemed to stop as he looked at the clouds which had now turned a shade of blue in the sky, "Even in the end, he won't see me," he whispered as he felt his chest constrict painfully. He didn't expect him to after the fight they had, but part of him hoped that the young man would see him after reading the letter, even if it was just a day. It would be more than enough for Arthur to slip away in peace. "Just one last waltz," he whispered as he slipped his feet out of his shoes. His hands quickly rolled the bottoms of his khakis up so they wouldn't get wet and picked up his shoes before proceeding down the coast line. He could feel the soft sand under his feet as he began to walk along the shore. "Perhaps he isn't coming," he whispered as he felt the cold ocean water his feet.

Alfred leaned on the side of his yellow Camero and gripped one of the easy open tabs of the FedEx envelope. The sound of cardboard tearing filled the air as pulled it open. It was rather heavy, and he remembered having to sign for it, "It better not be another dieting book," he grumbled as he spilt the contents on the hood of his car. His eyes were locked on the rather large leather book, it was worn and old, it looked as though it had been through several wars. Sitting beside it was a thick parchment envelope wit his name sprawled across the front. He pulled out his pocket knife and opened it with ease, the fading New York sun was behind him. "Well it doesn't look like another book on dieting or how bad fast food is for you," he commented as he slowly opened the folded sheet.

Long tan fingers trembled as they clutched the parchment page that was covered in tight and elegant script. Sky blue eyes skimmed over it's contents as the young American attempted to understand just what was going on. That same script, which covered most of his pages as a child. Perfect loops, which screamed functionality yet, they were more slanted than usual. It had been years since he had received a letter from Arthur, he honestly never thought he would see one. The last time he checked the man was still living in London, no one had even known that he had changed his address. In the header of the page was the address of a house in East Essex, a place which Arthur used.

_Alfred,_

_It's certainly been a long time since I put pen to paper and actually wrote a letter to you. For that I apologize, I should have done this sooner. I should have been more forward with you, far more open and perhaps even a little more affectionate. I didn't write you because I felt contempt whenever I looked at you, I didn't write because I couldn't find the courage. I couldn't find the courage to put pen to paper and say what had to be said._

_Now as I watch sand slip through the hourglass, I'm realizing that I have wasted so much time that I could have spent with you. Do you know what Shakespeare has written in the play "King Lear," when the King dies? It's actually rather amusing, I'm sure you don't remember your Shakespeare, you never liked it. But he has simply put, "He Dies." There isn't an elegant metaphor or fanfare, no monologue to fill the space, or charm the readers into feeling sorrow for the king. He simply has "He Dies," two simple words. It took Shakespeare, a genius to come up with that._

_It would be cliche to tell you now that I'm dying, however, it's the truth. I have little time left, and you know, you still owe me that dance. Would you honor me with a final dance, or shall I wait where I first showed you the sea, forever? I'm not asking for your love, I will never ask for you to tell me how much you love me, or that you need me. I ask one thing, one last waltz, that is all I desire. I understand if you do not wish to see me or even reply._

_Just know one thing, no matter what, I will always love you. Not as a brother or father, but as a lover. Alfred F. Jones I love you._

_Sincerely,_

_Arthur Kirkland_

Alfred felt tears sting his eyes as he looked at the envelope it had been sent in. "Why?" he whispered, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" He covered his mouth with his hand and jumped into the driver's seat of his car. Arthur was dying, and something told him, he was the only one who knew. It frightened him and hurt him at the same time, all he could pray for was that he wasn't too late. Never again would Arthur be waiting by the shore for aid that wouldn't come until far too much blood had been shed. "Call Arthur," Alfred said clearly as he waited for his Bluetooth to pick up. It felt like hours before the phone was answered, "Artie, are you okay? I'm coming over," he said quickly. There was a pause and a young woman stated, "Sir, Mister Kirkland isn't here, he went out for a walk two hours ago, we've been trying to find him." Alfred felt his head spin, there was no way Artur would try doing what he thought he was. "I'm in New York, I will get on a plane and see you as soon as I can," he stated only to realize he had no idea who the person was that answered the phone. "What's your name and why are you there?" he asked.

The woman on the other end hummed and responded, "Edith Nelson, and I'm his private nurse" her accent was thick and Alfred smiled a little. It wasn't as foggy as Arthur's, however it was close, she must have been Welsh. He paused, Arthur had a nurse, he must have been really sick. England seemed to be doing alright, but in truth he hadn't been watching carefully enough. He was preoccupied with the excessive spending in the US, that he didn't have a chance to sneak a peek at the London stock exchange, like he always had. "I'll see you in a few hours Edith," he stated before hanging up. Sitting in the passenger seat was the letter and large FedEx envelope, which had the address of Arthur's house. He felt as though his heart were going to be ripped to shreds, how he didn't see the man's emotions was beyond him.

He knew Arthur was kind and affectionate in his own way, he was British after all and often joked about only being affectionate toward dogs and horses. Alfred drew a deep breath and continued driving to Laguardia. He hated flying without luggage, thankfully his visa had not expired. It was still good from the world meeting which was three months ago. "Please be safe," whispered Alfred as he pulled into the parking lot at Laguardia and raced to get a plane ticket. He had a feeling he was about to face the longest seven hours of his lifetime.


End file.
